


Reconnection

by wowbright



Series: Glee Season 4 episode reactions [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5099498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wowbright/pseuds/wowbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burt and Blaine visit Kurt for Christmas in New York. Set after 4.10 “Glee, Actually.” UST, angst, love, connection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconnection

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Klaine Week 2013. Today’s theme: Reunion.

After dessert, Kurt settles on the couch between his father and Blaine as  _White Christmas_ starts on the television. It’s easier to be next to Blaine now that they’ve cooked a meal together; Kurt could feel them falling back into their old groove as they prepared the food and set the table, and the familiar ease with which they began to work together was not as terrifying as he might have expected.

They’re not more than twenty minutes into the movie before Blaine slumps against the back of the couch and lets out a soft snore. Kurt turns and gives Blaine a tender smile, because he honestly can’t blame him – except when the musical numbers are on,  _White Christmas_ is vapid and boring – and also because Blaine is beautiful in this moment, with the soft glow of the television and Christmas lights reflecting against his skin.

“Hey,” Burt whispers, nudging Kurt’s arm. “I think Blaine’s got the right idea. I’m gonna start getting ready for bed.”

Kurt nods and hopes his blush doesn’t show in the dim light.

—

Kurt makes up Rachel’s bed for Burt, stripping it of pink and replacing the linens with his extra set of gray ones.

“There,” Kurt says, smoothing down the comforter when Burt peeks in through the curtain that divides Rachel’s area from the rest of the apartment. “Now it has a little less of a Barbie-esque feel. Sorry I can’t do anything about the smell. She burns strawberry-shortcake-scented candles in here, like, 24-7.”

“It’s not that bad,” Burt chuckles. “Although it might make me wake up hungry in the middle of the night.”

Kurt shoves a pillow into its case and smirks. “You always wake up hungry in the middle of the night.”

Burt shrugs. “Not always. Just half the time.”

“Har har,” Kurt says and throws the pillow at him. Burt catches it effortlessly, as he always does.  _He’s not falling apart yet_ , Kurt thinks, and then hates himself for having the thought.

Burt steps toward the bed and drops the pillow next to the wrought-iron headboard. “Kid,” he says quietly. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Kurt nods and sits on the edge of the bed.

His dad settles down next to him. “I think you know by now that even though I’m the world’s greatest dad, I don’t always get everything right.”

“Is this about the soufflé you made for dessert falling flat? Because our oven is really finicky. It could have happened to anyone. And it still tasted good.”

Burt furrows his eyebrows. “I wasn’t talking about the soufflé.”

“Okay. Then what are you talking about?”

Burt fidgets with his cap, running his hand nervously over his scalp before pulling the cap back on. “Did I do the right thing, bringing Blaine here?”

“Yeah,” Kurt says.

“Would you tell me if it wasn’t?”

Kurt mulls the question over before answering. “Yeah. I would.”

“You really seemed to miss him the last few times I’ve talked to you.”

Kurt wills himself not to cry. “I have.”

Burt watches him thoughtfully. “You ever going to tell me why you two broke up?”

Kurt’s told his dad plenty of reasons for the break-up already: the distance, the difficulty of staying in touch with such mismatched schedules, the reasonable proposition that they’re young and should try being on their own for a while. He suspected that his dad wasn’t buying any of them, but was hoping Burt would never actually come out and say it.

“Maybe,” Kurt says. “I don’t know.”

Burt rubs the back of Kurt’s shoulder. “I love you, you know. I love both of you guys, but mostly I love you.”

Kurt lets out a sigh that’s supposed to be a laugh but doesn’t quite make it to that level. He leans his head against his dad’s shoulder. It’s as strong and solid as it always has been. Burt is still alive, and he’s still Kurt’s dad. “I love both of you, too,” Kurt whispers. “It’s just hard learning how to be just friends again with Blaine. But I want to. I’m sorry if it’s awkward being around us right now.”

“No problem, kiddo. Every relationship goes through its growing pains.” He gives Kurt a light sideways squeeze. “Knowing that doesn’t always make it any easier, though.”

—

Blaine is still asleep when Kurt goes back out to the living room. His head is bent all the way back over the couch, his face toward the ceiling. If he sleeps that way all night, he’s in for one hell of a headache in the morning.

Kurt nudges his shoulder.  _Sweetie,_  he starts to say, but catches himself before the  _t_. “Blaine.”

Blaine’s eyelashes flicker, then part; Kurt can tell the exact moment that Blaine’s eyes focus and he realizes he’s looking at Kurt, because his face crinkles up into a drowsily elated smile. “Kurt,” he says. “It’s Christmas.” His voice has the awed innocence of a boy a third his age.

“It is,” Kurt says gently. It’s hard not to brush the back of his fingers against Blaine’s sleep-warmed cheek the way he used to.

“Oh,” Blaine says, straightening himself as full consciousness dawns on him. “I’m sorry. You want to keep watching the movie? I can find somewhere else to sleep, or –”

Kurt shakes his head. “No, sw –” He bites his tongue. “No. You were just a little contorted. I thought you’d be more comfortable lying down.”

Blaine smiles gratefully. “Thanks. I should probably brush my teeth and stuff, anyway.” He looks around the room. “Where’s your dad?”

“He’s sleeping in Rachel’s room. Well, not  _sleeping_  yet.” Kurt lowers his voice. “When he actually falls asleep, we’ll hear it loud and clear.”

“Your dad’s snoring isn’t  _that_  bad,” Blaine whispers. “If I remember correctly it’s actually pretty soothing. You know, like waves lapping on a shore.”

“You’re just saying that because  _you_  snore.” Kurt says, and blushes.

—

It’s true, though. Burt Hummel’s snoring  _is_ soothing. It’s not a choked-off struggle for air, but just loud, deep breaths that sound fundamentally satisfying, at least to Kurt. But Kurt can’t hear them for the most part over the whir of Rachel’s white-noise machine, which Burt must have flicked on before falling asleep to drown out the unfamiliar sounds of the city.

Kurt’s in his own bed now, drifting fitfully in and out of sleep. He took turns with Blaine getting ready for bed and helped Blaine make up the couch with pillows and linens, and when Blaine settled under the blankets with  _Siddhartha_ , Kurt resisted the urge to tuck them around his body and kiss him softly goodnight.

He’s wide awake right now, thinks he has been for at least half an hour, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about anything – not his father or illness or the way that death always comes too early; not the confusing, beautiful boy sleeping on the couch on the other side of the curtain; not about betrayal, or love, or how the only sure thing in life is that you will lose everything you care about, over and over again.

He hears footsteps out in the main room; the bathroom door opens and shuts; and the pipes creak when the toilet flushes and the faucet turns on and off. At first, he thinks it’s his dad getting up for a midnight snack, but when the bathroom door opens again, he recognizes the footsteps as Blaine’s.

Kurt probably shouldn’t get up, but he’s too tired and stressed out to stop himself. He swings his feet over the edge of the bed, slides his slippers on, and goes to his doorway to draw the curtain open.

“Having trouble sleeping?” Kurt whispers.

Blaine is standing at the couch. He turns to look at Kurt; the lights from the street give his face a soft, colorless beauty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“No.” Kurt shakes his head. “I’ve been awake. Can’t really sleep.”

“Me neither,” Blaine murmurs.

They’re silent for a moment, looking at each other in the half-dark. Kurt feels oddly calm, like he’s been walking through a stressful dream but suddenly becomes aware that he’s the dreamer, and everything that was worrying at him immediately disappears, because it never existed anywhere but his mind in the first place.

“Do you want to sleep with me?” Kurt says.

Silence for a beat. Then a disbelieving “Kurt?”

“Just … to talk. And to sleep.”

Blaine turns away for a moment, his face toward the window. When he turns back, he nods solemnly. “Okay.”

—

“Blaine?” Kurt whispers. It’s the first thing that either of them have said since getting in bed a lifetime ago.

Kurt’s head is resting against Blaine’s chest; Blaine’s arms are wrapped around him. It feels good, for the most part – familiar and warm. The sound of Blaine’s heartbeat is a soothing  _ta-tut, ta-tut_  against Kurt’s cheek and ear, and his chest rises and falls like a steadily bobbing wave.

“Yeah?” Blaine whispers back.

“Were you safe?”

Blaine’s chest goes still and tight. Finally, after a much-too-long moment, it sinks with an exhaled breath. “Yeah.”

A beat. “What did you do?”

Another beat. “Kurt, do you really want to talk about this?”

“Yes,” Kurt says with absolute calm. Or maybe it’s just exhaustion. “I want to know.”

Blaine inhales. Exhales. Inhales again. “We – I touched him. We touched each other.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, more out of surprise that he’s not crying than anything else. “That’s what we did our first time together.”

Blaine’s breath is raspy. “I know. I’m sorry, Kurt.”

“What else?”

“There was some kissing, I guess. Not much. Or, well, too much. But I mean – it wasn’t you.”

“No,” says Kurt. “It wasn’t.”

“I would undo it if I could. I wish, every day, that I could.”

“I know.”

“But I can’t, can I?”

Kurt shakes his head slowly against Blaine’s chest. Not to be cruel, but because it’s the truth, and Kurt is terrible at lying.

“Kurt, do you want me to leave? I could, if you wanted me to. Find a hotel, or change my flight.”

“No.” Kurt wraps his hand around Blaine’s upper arm and clutches it tightly. “Stay. You’re my best friend. And I need you to help me through this.”

It’s not until he starts to feel the tears rolls down Blaine’s neck and soak the collar of his t-shirt that Kurt starts to cry, too. Mostly out of sadness, of course; but also, mixed deep within, a sense of relief and, maybe – he’s not sure it can be called this, but it feels something like – joy.

Because Kurt’s pain has been such a solitary thing up to this moment, setting him apart – a burden to carry with no aid. And now – it no longer is.

—

When Kurt wakes up the next morning, Blaine is still asleep. Kurt watches him in the late morning light. When he gets the urge to kiss Blaine’s forehead, he doesn’t stop himself.

Blaine stirs, but doesn’t wake.

Kurt has slept much later than he should have, considering that Burt needs to leave for the airport at noon; but Burt doesn’t say anything about it when Kurt emerges from his room. He just looks up from his breakfast, nods, and goes back to sipping his coffee and flipping through one of Kurt’s issues of _Vanity Fair._

Kurt walks over to the coffee maker and pours himself a cup. “Thanks for making coffee, Dad,” he says, settling into the chair next to Burt. “And sorry about the lack of variety in reading materials around here.”

Burt shrugs and takes a bite of toast. “This magazine’s okay. They’ve got some interesting political coverage.”

Kurt puts his coffee down. “I’m also sorry I’m such a bad host. It’s your last day here. I was going to get up early and make you crepes.”

“You spent all day yesterday making dinner. That’s plenty.”

Kurt runs his finger back and forth along the rim of his coffee cup. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late. Blaine and I were up late talking and –”

Burt puts up a hand. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Kurt blushes. “No. Actually talking.”

“Oh.”

“I just – I’m glad you brought him. I’m not sure I actually said that yesterday. Thank you.”

Burt looks at him with that appraising look he gets sometimes, like he’s seeing Kurt for the first time. No, it’s not quite that – it’s more like he’s seeing  _more_  of Kurt for the first time; not just the little boy who used to throw him tea parties, or the preteen who almost set fire to the kitchen trying to make crème brûlée, or the teenage boy who was more interested in getting into  _Vogue_  than getting into varsity. “Good,” Burt says. “I’m happy when you’re happy. And I’m glad that I didn’t accidentally ruin your Christmas. Because then I’d have to turn in my World’s Greatest Dad mug. And I really like that mug.”

Kurt throws his arms around his father’s neck. “Nope. There’s a reason I got you that mug. It’s because you prove it over and over.” 

—the end—


End file.
